


His Vulnerability

by NinetyFiveFathoms



Category: Scrubs (TV)
Genre: Kelsox, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinetyFiveFathoms/pseuds/NinetyFiveFathoms
Summary: There’s nothing Perry Cox hates more than feeling vulnerable, and when his worst enemy is the source of that feeling, he’s more frustrated than ever.  Takes place in a slight AU of 7x04, My Identity Crisis.





	His Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually been spending the past few months alternating between two longer fanfics that have the potential to be really interesting, but naturally I'm taking my sweet time and they're nowhere near finished. So instead, have this silly little oneshot I wrote today.

For as long as I can remember, Bob Kelso has been…well, the Devil. Evil incarnate, the worst human being alive, Beelzebob. You get the picture.

Yet here I am, sitting next to him, drinking coffee while he chows down his third dessert. Like we’re old friends. Like I don’t hate him with every fiber of my being.

Because—infuriatingly enough—I _don’t_.

For a while now, I’ve begrudgingly accepted that jackass’s presence during my lunchtime. He’d choose to sit there, and I’d only try to chase him off if I was having a particularly intolerable day. At least he knows how to enjoy a meal without filling every single silence, unlike every other idiot in this damn hospital. Plus, the number of people who would choose to sit with the both of us was negligible, making for an effective deterrent of any insufferable conversationalists.

But then he was absent from the cafeteria for the entire past week. I don’t know if the bastard was napping, eating at a different time, or spending enough time on actual _work_ (for once) that he didn’t have time to come down for lunch, but he wasn’t there. The first day, I told myself I was glad, even though I was bored. The second, I was slightly disappointed. By the end of yesterday, I found myself downright unhappy, and not just because Newbie would _nawt_ leave me alone.

Today, I wasn’t even going to bother taking my lunch until I passed by the cafeteria and saw him sitting there, and I felt…actual, honest-to-god _relief_. I’d already gotten a bite to eat, so I grabbed a coffee just so I had an excuse to join him! We haven’t even been _saying_ anything and I feel better than I have all week. Hell, I actually find his ridiculous, unhealthy consumption of brownie, followed by a slice of cake, followed by the slice of cherry pie he’s currently working on, to be—dare I say— _endearing_. And despite the mouthwatering, sweet scent of his desserts, all I can think of is how comforting and familiar the smell of his cologne is.

But worst of all, I keep stealing glances at him, and it’s because I honestly think he looks… _cute_. Not just today, but _every_ day. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “cute” to seriously describe _anything_ in my life before today, but now that’s apparently changed.

I hate him for it.

“Go to hell, Bob,” I grumble without thinking, the instinctual reaction to my warm thoughts breaking the silence. It should work out; surely that’ll piss him off, he’ll yell at me and leave me alone, and I can go back to hating him.

But that’s not what he does.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he replies with confusion, and I glance over to see _hurt_ on his face. And it crushes me. Bobbo is supposed to be angry, and instead, he’s making me want to apologize and comfort him.

Jackass.

But my attention is drawn from this frustration as Barbie pulls out a chair and settles in, establishing a decidedly more odious presence than my apparent… _feelings_ for the man beside me. Time to put on my best hateful glare.

“There’s nowhere else to sit, so you can drop the scary stare,” she counters with an eyeroll. “It doesn’t work on me anymore.”

Were there really no other tables open? I subtly glance around and confirm her declaration; had I really been so focused on Bobbo that I didn’t even notice that the cafeteria was this packed?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the table clanging and Barbie crying out in pain. “Kicking me under the table’s not going to make me leave, either,” she spitefully says to me, not realizing that I wasn’t the one who kicked her. I guess that means…

“ _I_ did it,” Kelso grumbles. “You talk too much.”

See, _this_ is why he’s the perfect person to eat lunch with. _God_ , I love him.

Shit. Did I just think that?

“Say, Bob,” I begin, affection and regret over the formerly hurt look on his face overriding my better instincts, “sorry about that ‘go to hell’ thing earlier.”

“We’re cool,” he casually utters. I feel a twinge of relief, the sensation transforming into frustration as soon as I recognize what I’m doing. No, don’t be relieved, you idiot! You want him to _hate_ you!

“You’re just pissy because you’re alone,” Elliot dismisses, frustratingly immune to our combined anger as she references the now-old news of Jordan and I splitting up. _Nawt_ a good way to keep me from strangling you with your stethoscope, Barbie.

“I mean, I’m in the same boat,” she continues, ignorant as ever to my complete lack of interest in her pasty, boring love life, or lack thereof. “Ever since I broke off my engagement, I live all alone in that big, empty house. Hell, Bob here is living on his own because Enid kicked him out.”

“Did she just call me Bob?” Kelso inquires, turning to me as he finishes swallowing a mouthful of pie. “I will kick her again.”

We give her another simultaneous glare as I fight off the urge to smile at our solidarity; I also don’t miss the fact that Barbie is clearly not allowed to call him by his first name, whereas he’s never taken issue with me doing so.

Still not taking the hint, Barbie pursues her current course in attempting to establish common ground between the three of us, and I’m forced to muster up a rant to try and get her to go away. I’m hardly even paying attention to things I’m listing off as I insist that I’m not lonely, too distracted by the fact that I _was_ feeling very lonely until today.

“But I can assure you the one thing I am _not_ is—” I get ready to conclude, but Bob interrupts me.

“Straight?” he asserts, admittedly not wrong; I’d almost say he sounds hopeful, but I know that’s wishful thinking.

I hate this.

“Audience participation is now over,” I deflect. “The one thing I am _not_ is lonely. Capisce?”

With another eyeroll, she blows her hair out of her face and grabs her tray, muttering something about “frickheads” as she gives up on her endeavor to annoy the living hell out of us. I practically sigh in relief, until the sound of Kelso’s chair backing up next to me makes me aware that he’s departing as well.

“Where are _you_ going?” I ask tersely.

“To take care of my tray?” He’s clearly confused, and I can’t blame him.

“Well, you’re not done with lunch yet, are you?” Of _course_ he is, I scream internally, but dammit, I’ve _missed_ him this past week.

“I finished my pie, Perry, and much as I’d love a fourth dessert, I should probably get back to work sometime today.”

I watch silently as he walks away, dealing with his tray before heading out the exit. Finally, I decide I have to go after him, for some reason; I grab my coffee cup, bolting toward the doorway and hurrying to follow him out into the hallway. I have to speak up, but I don’t know what my damn brain wants me to say. Stop thinking so much and just _say_ something, Perry, before he walks away!

“Hey jackass,” I call, and he turns, annoyance coloring his expression. “Let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

Wait, don’t say _that_!

Frustration departs from his expression entirely as his eyebrows furrow in complete bewilderment. “I’m sorry?”

I hesitate, wondering what in the hell I’m thinking; there’s no way he’ll say yes, which I know is part of why I’ve been so resistant to the idea. But I also know he already heard me, and I should just go for broke, since there’s nothing left to lose anyway. My confidence falters, but I repeat, “Would you like to go out with me tonight?”

He pauses in contemplation, expressionless, then his mouth opens. “No.”

I freeze, hating how crushed I am by this feeling; I know my only hope of not being completely embarrassed at this point is if I can pretend that was just a joke. But Kelso cuts me off before I can make my half-assed attempt at it.

“I’m making a roast tonight, and I don’t want it to go to waste. Come over and I’ll make you dinner.”

I exhale in relief as Kelso’s stoic expression falls away, his mouth curving upward. I know I should hate him for having this much power over me…but all I really feel is contentment, flattered that he’s going to make dinner for me, and a strong desire to tease him for answering the way he did.

“You _had_ to lead with ‘no,’ didn’t you?” I reply, my arms crossing as a matching grin forms on my face.

“My bad,” he chuckles with a slight shrug. “Just wanted to make you squirm for a moment.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an asshole,” I laugh back. “Granted, a _cute_ one, but an asshole nonetheless.” He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, but smiles a little wider, a subtle recognition of the compliment I just paid him. It makes me feel slightly less idiotic about having actually called him “cute” out loud.

“I’ll see you tonight, Perry.”

“Tonight,” I echo; his whole face lights up in a smile, and I can’t help it as my own face does the same. I still want to hate him for making me go soft, but right now, I think I’m too happy to care.


End file.
